


A Tale of Scarlet: Forbidden Reprieves

by beauty_love_stardust



Series: A Tale of Scarlet Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, Brother/Sister Incest, Bruises, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Forbidden Love, Incest, Incest Kink, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 11:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauty_love_stardust/pseuds/beauty_love_stardust
Summary: She sees a way to have everything she ever wanted. And she takes it. Regardless of the devastating consequences.





	1. Part one: A Love that Knows No Bounds

_Part one: A Love that Knows No Bounds._

 

 

 

> _The hardest thing to do_
> 
> _is watch the one you love_
> 
> _love someone else._

 

 

* * *

 

I always loved him.

It wasn’t right—I never claimed it was. And most of all; I never told him.

I was doomed as the only girl, and baby of the family. Short little arms, stubby legs. Fierce green eyes that challenged any that dared to call me ‘little’.

I fought the observation of my youth. Despised that no one in my family was younger than me.

Always protected; Always ignored.

And that is why it was easy—to watch him.

His curled auburn-red hair rucked up on his pillow, long toned legs splayed on his bed. His fingers would travel down; search out his manhood. Tug, pull, squeeze until he was a trembling mass on the sheets.

I would watch. Peeking out with rounded green eyes from the closet slats. Listening to his pants. Memorizing his moans. They were deep, low in his throat.

I wanted to be the one to touch him there. I wanted to learn his needs.

I couldn’t ask him. I was too afraid he would chide me. With angry red splotches on his cheeks; banish me from his bedroom.

It was his. I wasn’t allowed.

So I always hid.

But one eve; he wasn’t alone.

Huddled in the closet I watched; Penelope Clearwater. Blonde, flowing locks, pushed into his sheets. Laughter spiraling from her pink lips, and his. Kisses stolen; lips meshed together, and bodies alight with fire.

I could hear their whispers. Soft promises of love; as their clothes were shed from their skin. Her thighs splayed open. Ready. Waiting for him. He was easily accommodated between them.

Trailing kisses everywhere. Before he thrust.

Moans. Whimpers. Promises.

It all mixed together as they coupled.

The aching throb ignited each night I watched him before—only worsened between my thighs that night. Watching him give himself to another.

Take, and promise eternity.

I wanted that loyalty. I wanted what she had.

But I felt more hopeless than ever. His eyes had never regarded me with anything more than sibling affection.

Bossily ordering me about—or away. At times I even appeared an unnecessary aggravation for him. Always getting underfoot. Wanting his company when he was unwilling to give it.

He would rather have his nose in a book, than spend time with another.

Until Penelope.

I spied on them. Peered through the slats. He had her often, and unapologetically rough.

His gentile nature was almost nonexistent when he was with her. He would rut, moan, leave marks—bruises.

It made me envious. I wanted to be her. I wanted to feel what she felt with him. For those usually harsh green eyes; to land on me with love. Devotion.

Such devotion.

I let myself date others. Dean. Harry.

Even so, I couldn’t get my curly scarlet-haired brother from my mind. He lingered there; in my subconscious.

Even while I invited another into my bed.

I couldn’t attach. My mind would wander. Moans would always ensue, but mine would be for Percy. Always him.

Every touch; every kiss, I would imagine was from Percy.

I broke things off. I had to. I felt guilty about my mind’s wandering.

The relationship couldn’t continue down such a darkened path. And Harry was off to find Horcruxes, regardless.

Percy might have been banished from the burrow. But I still spent time in his forgotten bedroom. Huddled under the sheets. Drinking in his scent, long since left behind.

I missed watching him from the closet. Crouching there; touching with my own fingers. Mimicking the way he touched Penelope.

He was still with her. Living in a shared space. Somewhere in London. Away from all of us.

It hurt. His absence was like a stab to my heart. A memory that lingered, and burned me like a flame.

How could he disown us all? Even me.

I had only ever loved him. Too much.

But I did love him.

I recall when he would chase me around the flowing strands of grass in our yard. Tuck me into his arms, spin me around—and collapse. We were a ball of giggles then. Before he received his Hogwarts letter. I must have only been four, or five.

He would play with me then—he wasn’t too busy. Too snobbish.

He was kinder in the eyes—it was that kindness I loved first.

But even at his worst; I still loved him.

The war came. Quick, and horrible. Slicing through all happiness; causing fear, and chaos. We lost Fred. He lost Penelope.

I never saw him cry. Never so openly.

I found him after the fighting. The aftermath was inconceivable. Broken pieces of the castle corridors lay scattered. Bloodied frames lay dead, and battered. The scene was overwhelming.

But our family stayed away from Percy. Refusing to acknowledge his pain.

Only I would go to him. Strong hands clutched me tight; sobs buried into my chest, neck—anywhere his head could reach.

The position was awkward, his taller frame seeking comfort in my shorter one—but I made it work. For him I would have done anything.

Even though I held jealousy towards Penelope, I never wished her dead. She made him happy. So happy.

“She was pregnant.” My heart shattered.

I thought about his offspring. The joy he might have had at becoming a father. All taken by one spell.

Even my jealousy had boundaries. I never would have wished for this outcome.

I know his heart. I know how deeply he loved her. I bore witness to every night at the burrow they laid together. All his promises. Hopes. Dreams, for their future. And her reciprocations on every front. They had loved passionately; Deeply. And now it was all gone.

Snuffed out like a light.

I couldn’t speak. I barely could breathe. I stood, holding him so close. And loving him so much, my heart nearly burst in two.

How could I fix him?

Wiping his tears. Soothing his cries. I stood there. Holding him. Listening to him.

She hadn’t even been showing yet. Her stomach was flat. Her lifeless frame pale; caked with filth; debris.

I couldn’t help but to wish it had been me. Percy could have been happy. All I wanted was for him to be happy.

Threading my fingers through his hair, it was him I went home with.

He was like a ghost with dead eyes. Fingers that trembled, skin that had gone pale. A heart that turned to ice. He needed someone.

Our family was cold to him. They never understood him like I did. He didn’t argue at my offer to return to his home.

Didn’t question me. He was too devastated.

I watched him sob. Cooked him meals. Let him sleep beside me. I was warm. He was cold. He shivered under my warmth.

He attached to me. Like a moth to an ever-glowing flame.

Under any other circumstance—literally any other—my heart might have soared. Instead it sank.

He had once been so joyful; with a serious overtone. But now he was broken, slowly going through the motions. He no longer rose with the sun, he stayed in bed. His curly mop of hair askew, eyes elsewhere, staring mournfully on the side of the bed I now laid—Where Penelope had slept.

Two days of watching him, too beside himself to move. Not even to read the books that once breathed life into him—was enough.

I know what he needed—even if it wouldn’t be an easy construct.

I gathered what I needed, apparated into the morgue; cut away strands of dull blond hair. Promised myself that I wouldn’t think twice.

He needed me. I would help him.

I had left with the sun. Returned by the moon.

He was where I left him. Nuzzled under the covers. Eyes nearly unblinking. His fingers resting absently on the space beside his own. Her space.

I lowered my bag. Curled alongside him, he drew me near. I could feel his breath, smell the scent of his sweat. See the darkened circles under his eyes. Had he even slept when I was besde him?

Apparently not.

“Perce?” I was hesitant. Soft.

He made no noise to even indicate he had heard.

I played with his unkempt curls. A few tears welled underneath my eyes. “I’ll make it better. I promise I will.”

Kissing his nose; he blinked. But didn’t speak.

I moved to get up, and thought he wouldn’t respond.

He did.

“You can’t.”

Whispered, cracked words met my ears, and I crumbled. Drawing my arm from his. I didn’t want him to see my tears.

I cried in his living area, in one of the cushioned chairs. Lowered my head into my hands. Let myself fall apart. He couldn’t see me this way. I am the light he needs. I am the only one he has.

I pulled myself together. Dragged out the ingredients I needed—and set to work.

It was a month. I fed him. Coaxed him into the shower. Cut his hair. Slept in his arms. I tried to mend his soul. He was damaged. Fractured past endurance.

I felt less convinced than ever, that anything would work. Even this.

But the night had come.

I knelt beside his bed, a cup in my hand. Planting it lightly on his nightstand, I wondered if he even noticed I was donned in Penelope’s clothes. I’d found them in the closet. He refused to let a single article go.

I knew this outfit in particular to be special. It was the one she wore, the night they first laid together. I remembered the pink lace on the button down shirt. The shortness of the plaid skirt, that allowed him such easy access that night.

Soft fingers grazed his cheek, and his heated breath kissed my skin.

“Percy?” I whispered. Afraid to startle him.

His eyes shifted, focusing on my flowing red locks. But he made no move to reply.

“I’m going to give you a gift. And I want you to take it. I don’t want you to be afraid.” I was nervous. He was perplexed.

Still he made no move to answer. Just stared.

"I’ve loved you, since I was little. I’ve dreamed of you so many times. I’m doing this for you. I’d do anything for you, do you understand?” Still I was calm. No wavering in my voice.

Just determination.

Under any other circumstance I would expect his reaction to be abstract horror. But he barely seemed surprised. Barely reacted at all. Just lowered his gaze.

Lifting the cup from his dresser I tipped it back. Ignoring the horrid taste; the shift was immediate. Fast acting.

My hair transformed, blond strands came from the red. Breasts swelled, hips rounded, and I felt my fingers lengthen. Transformation complete, I saw the recognition in Percy’s eyes. The sight of me—of her. Shocking him back.

“P-Penny…” He was still lost. Tears welled in his eyes.

I lowered back down to the sheets, touched my hand to his cheek.

“Shh…It’s okay now. It will all be okay.” I reassured him. Soft even tones emerging from my petals.

I had waited my entire life for him to look at me this way. With love. With yearning. Even though I knew he wasn’t really looking at me—the effect was the same.

“Do you remember the first time? Perce?” I cooed, letting my voice sound out—like hers.

For the first time, he noticed my outfit.

Rough fingers dragged across the fabric. Recognizing it. Memories opening up his perception.

“I remember.” Tremors vibrated his voice.

I was calm. Let him acclimate to the sight of his beloved.

“Show me.”

He did.

Touching his lips to mine, I felt my heart leap to my throat. He drew me nearer. As though afraid I might disappear; crushing me under the weight of him as he eagerly pressed my back to the sheets. Already a stiffness poked through his boxers. It had been over a month since he’d laid with his beloved.

I couldn’t blame him for his eagerness.

He kissed, bruised, pushed his tongue in to explore my cavern. I battled my tongue with his. Tasting him; savoring him. He needed this. He would forgive me later.

One pull, had his boxers down, then off. His manhood freed. Eager fingers worked on my blouse. Gripping my breasts, squeezing, thumbing the nipples to erection.

He knew her body. He knew the female body well. He had me wet in seconds. Aching with untold need.

“P-Percy…”

His name befell my lips. I was melting underneath his experienced fingers. They delved underneath my knickers. Pushed, circled, explored. Finding my clit. Pinching the swollen, erect bud. I withered in urgency.

Then exploded underneath him. Cries escaped. My nails bit into his shoulders. Only to drag down his back. Toes curled in ecstasy. Eyes squeezed shut.

Whispered intimacies flowed against my ear. Encouragements for my pliancy, and eagerness. I could only moan for him. He had no idea how long I waited—How much I needed this too.

Peeling the sopping knickers down my thighs; Hastily they were discarded.

With ease, he pushed into my cunt. Engulfing himself in my walls; we both moaned. Too long. It had been too long for us both.

I had always reveled in the pleasures of the flesh. But knowing it was him this time. Truly him. Carried an infatuation all its own.

He wasn’t holding back. He was rough with her that first night. Passionate. And rough.

I remembered baring witness. I recalled her heavy cries. Silenced by his mouth.

He pulled out. Then pushed in. I cried out, he swallowed every moan. Covering my mouth with his. Kissing, warring. Fighting for dominance over my skin.

I let him win. Let him feel like a man again. He needed to feel strong—ever powerful.

I wanted to burst with pleasure. I nearly did.

He slid deeper, so deep I thought he pierced straight to my womb. He grunted; I began to bruise.

His fingers painted bruises everywhere they touched. Enrapturing my waist, pushing hard enough to leave finger-sized bruises in his wake.

Sweat built on his skin. Pants escaping, between kisses.

I recalled how she wrapped her thighs around him. I did the same. His leverage built, gripping the mattress below.

Friction built between us. I was so hot down there, I felt I might burn. He was close. He couldn’t last. Apologies fell into my ear as our lips broke apart.

He came. Seed, thick and hot, poured inside of me.

Pooling, and warming me to the brim.

I didn’t expect him to last. He’d been without her too long. He’d not even alleviated himself since. Not touched. Just laid, like a zombie.

I soothed him, comforted his pink cheeks. Told him it didn’t matter. And it didn’t.

He was already falling to sleep in my arms. Exhausted, and drained from the exertion on his weakened muscles. No longer used to physical activity after a month of wasting away. Wracked with tremors; He slept.

The morning came. Light shone in. Awakening him to the sight of me. I was myself again.

Polyjuice Potion only lasted the hour.

No more. No less.

It was an imperfect solution. One with time constraints.

When the strands of her hair ran out—I would never be able to soothe him this way again.

Eyes cracked open; I saw him falter. Under my watchful gaze, recognition rose in his eyes.

Sitting up in his once marital bed, he saw my garb. His nudity.

He understood what I’d done. For him.

“Gin… Christ.” Touching his lips, with trembling fingers; his eyes welled with tears.

“Don’t be ashamed…I wanted to give you a piece of her…” It was lame. A poor excuse.

He was ashamed. I saw it in his eyes. The guilt. The horror.

He descended into himself. That was the day he took up alcohol. It was to numb him. To pretend it wasn’t happening. It never happened.

Because despite the wrongness—I knew he would want her again.

And he did. Within a day he came to me. Whispered in my ear. Asked me to take the potion again. Asked me to be her. One more night—He vowed. Then he wouldn’t need her again.

I did as he asked. I splayed on the bed for him; let him back between my thighs. He took. I let him.

I don’t know if it was better. He was broken still; but now it was different. He cursed me for taking her form that first night. For giving him his beloved. And so cruelly returning to the flesh of his sister by daybreak.

I know he can’t love me. I know he isn’t capable—but I get something too when I take her form.

I get the man that I love. His touch makes me feel. Gives me life.

I am a pliant being under his ever-attentive fingers. I know what Penelope knew of their earlier days. Their Hogwarts days.

He tastes of firewhiskey. And I decide it’s a small price to pay. He loves me when I am her. He peppers kisses everywhere. Takes my flesh in every way. He lasts longer after a few sessions. Doesn’t spill in seconds, but minutes.

I leave marks. But he leaves bruises.

It’s a punishment; for giving him a taste, that will be whisked away again soon thereafter.

He’s a rough lover. Brutal when he desires it. His rougher tastes come through often—I revel in them. Perhaps I am a sadist. Perhaps I am sick.

I would do it all again.

He doesn’t understand, I would do anything for him.

Always him.

He tells me it can’t stop. It can never stop.

I ache underneath him, swell under his kneading touch. And soon—like Penelope—I am swollen with his child.

And fear strikes within.


	2. Part 2: The Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Very Mature themes occur in this fictional spin. It will be hard to read. You have been warned._  
>  **

_Part 2: The Inevitable_

* * *

 

 

 

> _I tried to love you less,_
> 
> _I couldn’t._

 

 

 

* * *

 

Would the revelation of my pregnancy make him better or worse?

I ponder, all day while he knocks back a firewhiskey. I think about it all through dinner; chopping away at vegetables.

I can’t think about it anymore than I already am.

The prospect of him as a Father was ever-present in my mind. Ever since I watched him lay on his bed. Sprawled out with Penelope curled in his embrace. He had whispered of his desire for a family. Various children. Not as many as our parents; but enough to feel fulfilled.

The memory hit me so fast I dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor. Sharp metallic noise springing to my ears—And his.

Sauntering over he bent, lifting it from the floor. Our eyes met. I saw the pain, and I tuned away.

It wasn’t time yet.

He couldn’t handle it.

I know how I needed to tell him. And I was dreading it.

Hot, whispers into my ear were made. Reminding me of what he desired. How my flesh needed to be morphed to hers.

I dressed in her clothes. Took the potion.

He lowered the bottle of firewhiskey, onto his bedside table. Forgotten. Empty.

I knew it would be a rough night. He took me in every conceivable position. Bit my neck. Dragged his tongue between my breasts. Bruised me everywhere. On my knees. On my back. On top of him. Every direction; every angle.

He was insatiable tonight.

When his body finally wore out, he tucked me in his arms. I rested my head on his chest. Content. But with a pit of anxiety dwelling just underneath the surface.

Lifting my fingers, long, slender—still hers. I linked our hands. He kissed my forehead.

I drew his hand down. Down…Down…

Let it rest on the softness of my belly. “I’m pregnant, Perce.”

The words were barely above a whisper. His skin clammy with sweat; breathing still calming from our last tryst.

He went rigid. Eyes clouded, and he swallowed thick in his throat.

“Don’t.”

Shoving my hand away he recoiled from me.

“That’s cruel, Gin.” Even though I was still her. Still had her face, the illusion faded for him.

Perching myself on one arm, the covers slid down. Letting my upper half bare to him. Nipples still erect in the moonlight.

“You’ve laid with me, each night. I’m not pretending, Percy.” Did he think I was capable of such cruelty? After all I’d scarified?

I felt a stab of betrayal. His disbelief wounded my soul.

Reaching for one of the many Firewhiskey bottles in sight—he brushed me off.

“I didn’t ask for this, Gin. I didn’t ask for you to give me a thing.” Bitter words cascaded off his lips.

Despite every one of them ringing true, still they stung.

“You still took what I offered. You didn’t have to.”

My eyes welled with unshed tears. Hormones racing through my veins, anger at his blasé attitude piping up. Did he think it was easy for me? It wasn’t.

I loved him. And he couldn’t love me back.

Not the real me.

This was harder than I ever imagined it would be when I first concocted the plan.

“You made yourself her! You even spoke like her. You know intimate details. How do you know them, Gin? How?”

He’d never asked before.

I never told. Just gave him what I knew of her.

Blinded by tears I covered my face in shame. I hadn’t told a soul about the nights I watched him. Those moments had been mine. Mine to have. To remember. My secret shame. And ever my secret intrigue to watch him touch. And later—be touched.

“I watched you together. I hid in your bedroom closet. Watched you love her. “ I didn’t have an excuse. It was weak. Pathetic to my own ears. Still it made me sob with shame to reveal what I’d done to his face.

His face twisted with emotions. Some of which I couldn’t read.

“You pried into my intimate moments with her? You watched us?” Anger seethed inside of him. I cowered. Allowed more tears.

“I didn’t mean to at first. I watched you masturbate. I only wanted to see, Percy. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe you could love me back. I just wanted to see…”

Standing from the sheets I covered myself with her clothes. Replaced them on my frame. He was seething with anger. With loathing.

 I shook. I trembled. I never wanted to see him look at me that way.

“I…I’ll leave. I won’t come back.”

The words were quick. Rushed.

I felt the ache of his loss. I felt the regret in his stare. It had been enough that we would lay together at night, when he looked at me with love.

The possibility of offspring had changed that in him. I thought he could handle it.

I was wrong.

“I want no part of your baby. You’re not Penelope. You never will be her.”

They were cold, detached words.

They broke me.

Right then—Right there.

I couldn’t recover from this.

I no longer sobbed. Just looked upon him with the weight of a broken heart.

I wasn’t wanted. His baby wasn’t wanted.

He helped me create this perfect being. This little life, I thought he wanted. He was so broken when he found out his Penelope was gone. Their babe along with her.

Now he was disgusted by the prospect of another babe. Of my babe.

Just mine.

I was carrying the sin of my love. I was carrying something unholy in me. Something unclean.

I wanted to fix him, but came to realize that nothing could have done that. At least my solution couldn’t have.

I snapped under the weight of knowing that his mind wouldn’t change. The sweet, soft boy of my childhood was gone. He was fractured.

I remembered his dreams. His spoken words to Penelope all those years ago. They felt so far away now. So surreal.

“Someday, I hope you can forgive what I’ve done.”

It was all I could leave him with, before I went. All I could do.

I was standing with a suitcase of what I possessed. I’d changed from her clothes. He’d drank silently on the bed throughout. Not looking at me once. Leaving the remnants of her hair behind, I felt the strands belonged to him. Not me.

I turned to walk away. Just as I met with the arch of the doorway—he finally spoke.

“I will never forgive you.”

I apparated. To the leaky cauldron. Not the burrow.

I secured a room. Nothing fancy. Just something small. Dank.

I wanted to remember everything. The smell of Percy’s skin after we finished making love. The kisses he bestowed; even the bruises still peppered on my skin. I changed into a loose fitting gown. My most plain that I owned.

Let my waves of ginger hair flow down my back. My skin once so bright; full of color, was dull. I don’t know how I ever had hope.

I don’t understand why I ever loved him at all.

It was a cruel twist of fate. And it was my own shyness that caused the outcome.

He had fallen in love with her, and there was no turning back. Had I not been a coward. Had I asked years ago—Would things have been different?

I couldn’t know now.

I set to work. Mixing. Brewing. Ignoring the patter of rain on the leaky cauldron windows. Felt the kiss of loneliness on my skin.

He didn’t want me. Least of all the tainted child I carried.

I was unforgivable. I gave him everything, and yet he couldn’t forgive the heart I had no control over. Tears fell. I ignored them.

When completed I took a vial.

Used my wand to coax a portion of potion into it.

It would be quick. Painless. I made sure of that.

It would all be over soon.

I thought of Percy’s hands. Just his hands. How soft; But rough.

He was difficult to love when one thought about it. For me, however, it had been as easy as breathing. As existing.

I don’t know why. I wish I did.

It could have saved me so much heartache if I never cared in the first place. If never let him dictate my heart.

If my devotion didn’t run so deep, I would have thought twice about the consequences. My family that mourned Fred. But I would do anything for him.

I always would.

I laid on the rickety bed. Listened to the springs groan under my weight. I wasn’t heavy. But I wasn’t pretty like Penelope. My skin wasn’t flawless. My chest not larger than average. I wasn’t desirable to him as I was.

The thoughts would end soon. As would everything. Wouldn’t that be nice?

There was one last thing. One last thing I needed to do.

I procured an empty vial from my rucksack. Lifted my wand to my temple. And pulled.

Memories came, wisps of them. Enough to fill the vial. I scrawled his name on parchment. Left the vial on the nightstand. The parchment attached.

Now I was finished.

I uncorked the vial. Lifted it to my lips.

And drank.

Fuzzy feelings overcame me. I could see a blurriness taking root in my vision. My limbs felt heavy. A hundred pounds too heavy. It was indescribable. But the tears that came flowed freely.

My hand lowered. Pressed to the place where our offspring was growing. Perhaps the size of a walnut by now. It didn’t matter now.

I felt warm wetness on my thighs. Blood I imagined. I was too tired to check. My magic was being drained. My life force too.

“I’m sorry, Percy…”

Slurred words fell. And before darkness overcame me—I saw his face.

His smiling, soft face.

The same one I always wanted to see.

The one I dreamed would one day look only at me.

But it was only a dream. A desire. It wasn’t a memory.

He could never have loved me—for me.

His own sister.

_**Then blackness.** _


	3. Part 3: Residual Finality

_Part 3: Residual Finality._

* * *

 

 

 

> _She was the only girl that_
> 
> _loved me with honesty;_
> 
> _And I broke her._

 

* * *

 

I drank.

The bitter taste of firewhiskey on my lips. The memories of Ginny in my bed were too much.

She warmed it as Penelope. She let me have this taste of the girl I loved. What more could there be out there?

She kissed; I reciprocated, because I am despicable.

I couldn’t live without Penelope. I wanted to believe she still lived on; because the pain was more than was bearable for me.

I drowned in sorrow. In constant longing.

Ginny was willing. So willing.

She took on a role that most never would. I should have protected us with a spell to avoid contraception. It never came to mind.

I am angry, because I am supposed to be the smart one. But I let myself fall hard, and I am no longer brimming with smarts.

Not with the numbness I need to devour to stick my prick in her. Surely she understands. She comprehends all of it. Why I can’t raise offspring alongside of her.

Even as she walks away. Tearful expressions written on her face—I know it’s for the best. It simply has to be.

I drink until unconsciousness overcomes me. Blackness settles into my mind. Dreamless sleep ensues.

It is to distress that I am roused from slumber. Frantic words befall Ron’s lips.

Ron. Why is he here? I was disowned.

Unwelcome as far as my family is concerned. His eyes are brimmed with tears. What has happened?

Through the haze of Firewhiskey that left me impaired I try to grasp the words he speaks.

‘Ginny.’ ‘Gone.’ ‘My name scribbled.’

It’s all I catch with my slow-acting mind.

‘Dead.’

That word sinks into my stomach like a stone. Down to the pit. The core.

Dead?

I’m sobered by the news. It takes a cup of tea—and a bit of coaxing for the full story. The brunt of it, was that she took poison.

No note. No reason. Just a flask of memories with my name on it.

My name.

I feel my stomach churn. Tears fall. I didn’t mean it.

I was drunk. Did she not realize I slurred my words last night? Did she not see that I would never want her dead?

A memory resurfaces, as a constant reminder, of what I did. My last words to her. So clearly spoke through slurs. ‘I will never forgive you.’

She was carrying my child. Like Penelope.

And she was my baby sister. What had she done?

“She was pregnant, too. Did you know?”

Pulled from mourning by those words; I wanted to tune out. No one would ever know that pregnancy was the result of our twisted nights together.

My deepest shame.

“No.”

I lied.

Quick, concise. And he didn’t seem suspicious.

“Housekeeping found her. She had blood on her, She’d started to miscarry when it…”

Ron couldn’t finish.

My hands tightened around my mug.

“She was staying with you, perhaps the bloke was in London.”

I still didn’t chime in.

When the uncomfortable conversation came, and went. Ron handed me the vial with her memories within. The neat scrawl of my name in her hand, written on parchment.

He apparated.

I was left alone.

The silence was deafening. I had grown accustomed to her presence. Coaxing me; Mothering me. Like Mum used to.

The absence was overwhelming. I wanted to take it all back. I longed to see her one last time.

I would have made it work. In time. I couldn’t have loved her, but the baby? I might have done.

I’m bitter. Penelope is gone. I feel the absence of her hands. Her touch—Her love.

Now those touches had melded with Ginny’s. She had been such a bright light. An oasis away from every depressing thought.

I didn’t tell her that I appreciated her sacrifices. I hadn’t at the time.

That first night. She whispered about how she loved me. I didn’t know then—She loved me as more.

Until she consumed me with her presence. He aura. She carried Penelope’s devotion in her eyes. Touched me with soft compassion, much the same.

She made the illusion easy. She made her touch blend with mine.

I grew up loving another. Couldn’t she see I was incapable of loving her back that way?

I thought she loved Harry. Believed she desired him.

Mournfully I gazed upon the memories in the vial. What laid in them? Why were they so important to pass on to me?

Her last act on this Earth—was to give me a piece of her soul.

I dug through my closet. Bypassing odds, and ends. To find my pensieve.

Holding the metallic bowl; I poured the contents of the vial within. Watching the swirl on the surface. Dipping my head inside.

Images swirled, forming, coming together.

She was little. Her arms outstretched to me. I recognized the memory. I used to play often when we were young. I kissed her cheek. Tugged her hair. Ran with her through the tall grass. Captured her around her waist. We laughed. She told me she loved me. I returned the sentiment.

Another memory came. This one of overpowering yearning. She paced outside my door. Debating entering. It was silent inside my room. Finally she scampered within, only to hide behind the closet door. She watched me through the slats. Saw every intimate touch I made to myself.

I saw her touch—as I touched. Keep her noises quiet underneath a trembling hand.

How did I never know?

Various memories; spanning years had her watching me make love to Penelope. I saw how it pained her. But still she watched.

The nights she laid in bed. Finding her soft spaces with her exploring fingers. Moaning my name. Always my name.

She kept her eyes closed when other boys were inside of her. Dean. Then Harry. Never opened them. I know what she pretended.

The memories shifted. I saw her clip away Penelope’s hair. Saw her brew the potion for a month, between caring for me. Tough decisions were made. Donning the outfit she recalled from my first night with Penelope, the nights of seduction began. I saw her fear at the realization she was with my child.

Saw the way I looked at her. The disdain—the hatred. I saw her face fall. I saw what I truly did to her. I broke her spirit. She was devoted to me. She did it all, for me.

Believing that her death—our offspring’s death—was the only way to provide me happiness; she brewed the potion. I watched. I watched her take the potion. Saw that last bit of life leave her. Blood soaked into the sheets below. The plain white gown loose on her skin as she closed her eyes—whispering my name.

I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t see it. But I did.

I destroyed a girl who’s only sin was to love me.

My own sister.

Pulled from her memories; I shattered. Breaking down on the floor. Curled into a ball. I apologized. To her. To Penelope. To the atmosphere around me. I found a corner. I cried.

She left me Penelope’s hair. In case I found another to take the potion. To love more than I could ever love her. It wasn’t love I needed. It was Penelope.

I felt the compulsion of her need to satisfy me.

She couldn’t, however.

I had been unspeakably cruel to her.

I wanted her back. I wanted to stop her. Tell her we could do it.

We could raise the baby—if she would only not take her life.

I didn’t want that. I didn’t want this.

I have to live with the burden. The knowledge that she will never recover.

That I did this to her soul.

I cried until I couldn’t anymore. I slept in the corner I was tucked in. When I woke next. I put away the pensieve; tucked her memories into a drawer.

It was now her that I mourned.

Ginny. The girl who loved me; despite all of my flaws.

I had to live—for her.

She gave up everything for me. Even her life.

I have to find a way—to repay her.

Even though I know; I never will.


End file.
